Renervate
by Coyoyotie
Summary: In which Harry finds that there's a lot of changes at Hogwarts during his 8th year, but that he doesn't really mind. Collection of prompted one-shots. Drarry.
1. Chapter I

**1. Platform 9 3/4**

On September 1st at Kings Cross station in London, Harry Potter pushed his trolley down the length of a train track. His eyes flickered up routinely at the hanging signs proclaiming their platform number; platform 4... 5... 6...

He was finally starting his seventh year at Hogwarts, now that it was Death Eater free and safe to do so.

After Voldemort's final defeat, the Ministry was slowly rebuilt and the remains of the Order of the Phoenix helped the Aurors to capture the escaped criminals; anyone who was siding with and actively fighting for the Dark Lord was given their own special cell in Azkaban, watched over by the Dementors, who had thankfully since returned to the prison.

The imprisonment of Voldemort's army had broken apart many families, several high status Purebloods losing the patriarch and Lord of the family. Some of them were happy, though, to be free of their violent and intimidating leader, free of the dangers posed by even being in his presence.

There'd be only half, at most, of the year returning for their repeated seventh year.

Reaching the elegant curved wall of platform 9, Harry shifted his grip on the trolley handle and began walking purposefully toward the bricks. They shifted around him as he passed, and his vision was suddenly full of parents and students chatting, laughing, and still celebrating; birds squawking and wings flapping in their cages; red, blue, yellow – even green – scarves, ties and trunks being passed around, levitated from their trolleys; and the huge red steam engine, as impressive and eye-catching as it was 7 years previous.

There was a good 15 minutes before the clock struck 11am and the train would leave. The Boy-Who-Lived used his recently repaired holly wand to lift his trunk into the baggage compartment, and then deposited his trolley in the park at the edge of the platform.

He stood, observing and comparing the scenery to what it had been like at the start of his sixth year; everyone scared to voice their opinions, Aurors milling about ready to fight any danger, nervous Muggle parents shrinking cluelessly under the glares of the Purebloods.

The patch of ginger indicated the Weasley family, but Harry remained by the wall. He could see Hermione with Ron, and his eyes picked out a few other Dumbledore's Army members that he had spent a year secretly training.

And finally, the striking white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy entered his vision. His family had been ridiculed and antagonised since the end of the war, Lucius receiving a large fine that barely affected them but sufficiently funded the new Ministry for 10 years. But they didn't react to it, instead carefully tending to their wounded pride and restoring their dignity after having bowed to a revengeful, lying Halfblood.

Harry strode forward, winding between groups of friends and hugging families, and finally came to a stop in front of the blond.

That was the first time Harry Potter kissed Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter II

**2. Pumpkin Juice**

Harry should have known it was odd when the Slytherin brought him breakfast in bed.

Not his bed, by the way; the one that the Room of Requirement had so kindly supplied for them as they walked past. Draco refused to do anything against a wall like some "plebeian", after all, and Harry's persuasions only swayed his opinion slightly.

Draco collapsed onto the green duvet after sliding the tray of food over to Harry's lap, and then sighed dramatically, eyes darting quickly to the Gryffindor's face.

"You better appreciate that, Potter."

So Harry conveniently forgot that he didn't like tomatoes, and gratefully ate the whole Full English, occasionally poking a forkful toward Draco (who glared, rolled his eyes, and then ate, looking like he didn't really mind being fed).

Harry enjoyed Sunday mornings, because Draco always finished his homework on the Saturday, and therefore had the rest of the weekend to laze around. Harry especially liked them when Draco was in a talkative mood, and they'd share random pieces of trivial information about each other, and sometimes even exaggerated stories of adventures they and their friends had got into. The latter was rare and always cherished, as so many memories were tainted by the war.

The Gryffindor sipped at his pumpkin juice as he thought, and absentmindedly reached out a hand, tangling his fingers into Draco's blond locks. Despite his holier-than-thou attitude and fierce competitive streak, the Malfoy heir was a good boyfriend, and an even better lover (though Harry secretly thought his competitiveness helped with that).

Harry first knew he was falling for Draco during his sixth year. How could he not, after all, since he was practically stalking the Slytherin. Draco liked hearing little anecdotes about the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak, and Harry's misadventures with them, and he had formed a hobby of casually describing the events of his latest fantasy (of how they could be with each other in plain daylight, other students _and teachers_ so close by but absolutely clueless), no matter where they were, ignoring Harry's choking/spluttering/blushing.

Their close friends had found out about the relationship on June 5th, Draco's birthday, when the Slytherin had somehow bribed a first year into giving him the lions' common room password. The 8th year boys awoke to a (very manly, Harry insisted) squeal as the ex-Death Eater attacked the Boy-Who-Lived's mouth in enthusiastic thanks for his present, which had taken Harry a damn long while to make. At least they had free roam of the dorm rooms after that, though.

Back in the Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and slid out from under Harry's touch. He took the tray and now-empty goblet and shoved them onto the bedside table, then turned his body so he was sitting cross legged facing Harry straight on, a smirk forming on his face.

"What?" Harry asked cautiously.

The smirk widened. "Oh, nothing. But there may have been some Veritaserum in that juice."

Of course.


	3. Chapter III

**3. Malfoy Manor**

Harry found that entering Malfoy Manor via the floo network was very different to the main entrance through the huge, ornamental gates. He inwardly decided that it probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn't being held at wand point this time, though the threat of death was still looming; Draco had conveniently forgotten to inform his parents of Harry's visit.

The Malfoys met in the drawing room, which was basically a posh lounge. They apparently owned two house elves (a ditsy one named Patsy and an old one named Hector) that filled the small table with wine glasses and small snacks. Harry stood awkwardly, half hiding behind his boyfriend, feeling very much like an insect under a microscope as Lucius looked him over intently.

Harry was then thoroughly questioned regarding his relationship with their son (neither mentioned that they regularly shagged), his standings politically, his hobbies, his decisions concerning life after their schooling, and the occasional polite question about his friends.

"And will you bear the next Malfoy heir?" was the final question, and Harry promptly spat up some of his fine Elven wine. (But he didn't think he'd _really_ mind, just so long as he doesn't have to discuss it with the in-laws.)

Dinner was also sufficiently awkward, although Harry didn't know if it was better since the questions had ended – even if it meant the room was uncomfortably silent.

They finally retired to Draco's bedroom, which was predictably large and generously spacious, decorated in greens and silver. There were signed posters and other Quidditch memorabilia decorating the walls, and a small bookcase of Wizarding tales and fiction.

On the bedside table, Harry spotted a framed photo showing the two of them naked in the Slytherin dorms, Harry writhing as Draco possessed his body. It was, in fact, the very photograph that Blaise had taken when he peered quietly through the accidently unlocked door; the very photograph that had caused Draco to hex, curse, and threaten his roommate with public humiliation "that would make a dragon look like a crup puppy".

'He told me he had _incendio_'d that,' Harry thought, a smile creeping onto his lips.

The two eighth years simultaneously decided that the bed – a king size four-poster with green silk drapes – needed breaking in a bit, and leapt at each other. The soft covers were soon rumpled and creased, and there was a little smear of chocolate on one of the pillows. As much as Draco denied it, he really _did_ have an obsession with the candy; not that he'd complain if it was Harry he was eating it off of.

The following day, they deflowered the library sofa after Harry accidently came across an interesting, explicit book on one of the back shelves.

Next came the dining room table. Harry had asked why the huge table was so pointlessly long, and Draco deemed it necessary to show him its other uses.

Harry decided that he quite liked Malfoy Manor.


	4. Chapter IV

**4. Parchment**

The first one went like this:

_Draco Malfoy,_

_Thank you for the use of your wand, it's enclosed with this letter. It worked better for me than I had expected, and it helped me kill Voldemort._

_I'd also like to apologise – not for taking your wand, because you were being an idiot at the time – for every time I argued with and insulted you in the past. I hope we've moved on from the childish and petty fights we used to have, though it'd be hard not to considering the hell we've been through together._

_Thank you for saving my life – please pass my thanks to your mother, too._

_Harry Potter._

It had taken Draco thirteen days to think up how to reply, and another two days to write it.

_Harry Potter,_

_Thank you, I appreciate it._

_You have my apologies also._

_Thank you for saving mine, too._

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry supposed he shouldn't have expected much. But he still wrote another, and tried the flattery approach.

_Draco Malfoy,_

_I've heard about your father's donations to the orphanage that Andromeda, myself, and some friends have recently set up, and I once again thank your family profusely. We hope to have it up and running within a year, and I only wish I could do more to help with the constructing and opening of it. As it is, I've been given the job of minding little Teddy whilst his grandmother does all the work – she's very stubborn._

_Teddy is a cousin of yours, did you know? He was looking through my Hogwarts photo album earlier and wants to meet you, if you'd be agreeable._

_Harry Potter._

This reply was expected, however.

_Potter,_

_Why the hell do you have a photo of me in your album?_

_Are you going back for eighth year? If so, I'll see the kid then._

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry laughed as he read it, and kept smiling whilst penning the reply.

_Draco,_

_Remember the time in fourth year when you sabotaged my potion and the smoke made Snape dance instead of walk? Ron got a photo as a souvenir._

_Harry._

The Gryffindor's favourite one was:

_Harry,_

_You're a pretty decent seeker, too._

_Draco._

He kept it, tucked inside his album behind the photo of a laughing Draco and a dancing Snape.

From then on, the letters were addressed and signed with first names. They came and left frequently; Harry's with a small and dainty barn owl he'd borrowed from Hermione, and Draco's with a massive Screech that glared and scowled as impressively as its owner.

Sometimes the huge owl, which he later found to be female and called Rosie, wouldn't wait for Harry to wake up or finish showering, and would drop the letter on his desk. He didn't really mind, and he could always tell who the letter was from; only Draco could create the beautiful curling letters that spelt out Harry's name, and the thick, expensive parchment always smelt of old books and vanilla.


	5. Chapter V

**5. Spell**

Draco pretended to hate the time when Harry found a love for Muggle country music. He certainly disagreed with Harry's claim of "but this song fits our relationship, darling!"

The last and only time the Gryffindor had danced was at the Yule Ball during their fourth year. Now, four years later, there was much more worth celebrating. The teachers had all agreed on having a formal dance every few years, as it would keep spirits lifted and it'd be a nice way to relax after so many years of war and devastation.

They were both dressed in Wizarding style tuxedos; Draco had a white rose attached to his lapel, and his trailing robes were lined with a beautiful silver material that shone with each movement, whilst Harry wore a shorter style robe with a green lily that matched his eyes.

Predictably, they didn't stay in the Great Hall for long. The pair soon ventured out into the courtyard, which was covered in a soft layering of untouched snow, and they both tilted their heads to stare at the almost-full moon.

"You know what?" Harry whispered.

"What?"

Harry sung softly, _"__You've got me under your spell, again, __sayin' those things, again, makin' me believe that you're just mine..."_

"Harry don't you–"

"_You've got me dreamin' those dreams, again, makin' those things, again, I've gotta take you back just one more time..!"_

"I swear, Potter, if you–"

Harry grinned and grabbed Draco's hands, yanking him into motion. _"I swore the last time that you let me down, that I wouldn't see you if you came around..."_

The Malfoy heir protested, shaking his arms to loosen Harry's grip, but the Gryffindor just twirled along with the beat, his singing growing gradually louder.

"_But I can't tell my heart what's right or wrong, and I've been so lonely since you've been gone!"_

"Harry, really, you can't dance to your bloody country music–" The reluctant partner was pulled along anyway, swaying and stepping in time.

"_Well, everybody tells me that I'm a fool, that, I never should have put my faith in you, and way down deep inside I guess I know it's true..._ Draco, please?"

And because Draco was such a wonderful boyfriend, and because since Harry insisted on humming and whistling the stupid song over and over, and because he even wrote the occasional pieces of lyrics in their letters, and perhaps because he knew it truthfully did fit their relationship, Draco sang, _"But no one else can make me feel the way you do."_

The glorious beam he received in return was enough to tempt a smile onto the blond's lips, and he lowered his head to catch kisses throughout the last verse, which they both sung quietly together;

"_You've got me under your spell, again,__  
__Sayin' those things, again,__  
__Makin' me believe that you're just mine.__  
__You've got me dreamin' those dreams, again,__  
__Makin' those things, again,__  
__I've gotta take you back just one more time..."_


	6. Chapter VI

**6. Wand**

"Draco, what would you do if I said that I didn't actually break the Elder wand? Hypothetically."

The blond snorted. "I would hypothetically enquire as to why you hypothetically didn't break it. Why do you hypothetically ask?"

"Stop saying that word," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were twitching upward. "Would you have broken it, if you were me?"

"Harry, if I was as pure and innocent as you, I would have probably broken the wand, stamped on it, and fed it to a hippogriff."

A hand reached across the grass to slap at Draco's arm. The two were laying spread eagled on the Hogwarts grounds, the beautiful spring sunlight shining down at them so dazzlingly that they kept their eyes shut. The warm rays danced across their relaxed faces.

Draco rolled his head to face his boyfriend, peeking through his squinting eyelids. "I don't know, and I hope I never have to be in the situation. I'm sure I would have done something monumentally stupid that caused a Wizarding plague or whatever."

"I've done monumentally stupid things in the past."

"Is keeping the Elder wand whole one of them?"

Silence reigned as they both lost themselves in their thoughts. It was nice, times like this, during their free periods when it was just the two of them with no one else to disturb the quiet. It was a rare thing, what with the reporters and fans and enemies.

"I duelled against Ron and Hermione, you know, once everything had calmed down a bit. I had to test out the wand, to see if it lived up to the rumours."

"You flattened them, I hope?"

"Like pancakes."

"Not sure Granger-and-Weasel pancakes are quite to my taste, to be honest."

The hand smacked at Draco's arm again, but stayed in place, the fingers curling around the grass and dragging Harry's body toward the Slytherin.

"It was a very nice wand. Pretty, too. It seemed to hum as if it were alive, as if it knew what it was doing."

"Really; pretty, was it?"

Harry made a noise of agreement. "Pretty. But there was this other wand that I duelled with once, that was even prettier. Beautiful, even."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The magic in it... it wrapped itself around my own, and it felt so – warm, and comforting. It complimented me. But I think I prefer its owner."

Draco's eyes opened fully and gazed straight into the bright emeralds that were inches from his face. "I'm glad you think so."

Harry rose half way and reached forward, his lips pressing gently against the blond's. Draco arched himself up as the Gryffindor continued closer, and they were soon pressing chest to chest, Draco pinned to the soft grass as they kissed.

Coming back up for air, Harry relaxed and tucked his head under Draco's chin.

Again, silence.

"It wasn't a hypothetical situation, by the way."

"_Harry!"_

The boy in question let out a loud snicker. "Just kidding!"


	7. Chapter VII

**7. Quidditch**

Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Harry Potter had won himself a place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his first year, and that his rival, Draco Malfoy, had become the Seeker for Slytherin the year after. They all knew that they had played against each other in every Gryffindor-Slytherin house match since, and that it was extremely rare for the Slytherins to come close to winning.

And so everyone at Hogwarts stayed well clear of the rivalling pair when, in the third week back, McGonagall announced that the eighth years would not be allowed to join their house team and participate in the matches.

As imagined, they were furious.

"I was captain! They can't just kick me off the team!"

"I bought a bloody Firebolt ready to trash the Gryffindors!"

"She knows I love Quidditch – I can't just _not play!_"

"After everything we've done in the stupid war we just get tossed aside in a_ game!_"

"I'm the best Seeker anyway; they need me to help beat Slytherin!"

"Wait 'til my father–"

Draco paused, his mouth still half open. Then his eyes slid over to Harry, who was looking back at him with a weird expression. As one, they both burst out laughing.

It was only a week after that they devised a plan. Draco wrote out a huge banner, which Harry helped him to pin onto the door of the Great Hall. It said:

_Who needs little kids anyway?  
8TH YEARS QUIDDITCH GAMES_

From then on, the two free periods after their classes on Thursdays would consist of all eighth year students coming down to the Quidditch pitch. The ex-players would haul the equipment out from the Quidditch shed, and the bats and balls would be passed around. There weren't enough players of each position to form teams, so they all played their own separate games at once; the Beaters would smack the Bludgers back and forth; the Chasers divided themselves into small teams and, dodging the Beaters' game, would try to score; Ron, the only Keeper, would try to stop them; and Harry and Draco had their own little speed match in the middle of the whole chaotic pitch, repeatedly going after the Snitch whilst avoiding collisions with other players.

It was almost as good as the house matches. Many of them enjoyed it because it was purely for fun, rather than a huge pressure from the rest of their houses to win, and no house points were gained or lost by it. Another positive point was the lack of annoying children getting in the way.

But Draco's favourite part of the _eighth years Quidditch games_ was after the match, when the hot and sweaty Harry padded away to the Gryffindor changing rooms. Draco would grab his robes and slip in after him, duck through the shower curtain, and press his body against his boyfriend's. Harry would turn within his arms, and they'd thread their fingers through each others' hair, combing and rubbing and kissing...


	8. Chapter VIII

**8. Slytherin**

"Death Eater scum!" was the insult of the day, spoken by a rude third year Gryffindor. It was accompanied by a quieter "_Anteoculatia_!" from his Ravenclaw friend.

And so the two ex-rivals were in the Infirmary, Harry on an uncomfortable wooden chair and Draco lying on the closest bed. The Slytherin was curled onto his side, his head burying itself into Harry's chest, while the Gryffindor tenderly dabbed a warm and damp cloth over the wounds hidden in the blond hair.

Madam Pomfrey had been walking from her office to the potions cupboard with the freshly brewed Dreamless Sleep that had just arrived via owl. They weren't as good – or efficiently provided – as Severus' potions, but they'd certainly do for complaining children. She was re-locking the cupboard when the infirmary doors opened, banging on the walls as they were pushed too hard, and in came the infamous couple.

Harry had been supporting most of his boyfriend's weight as Draco was busy focusing on keeping his head upright – the antlers weren't light. The Healer had seen the hex before, of course, but there was unfortunately no quick and easy cure. She fed the antlered teenager a calming draught that sent him into a light doze in Harry's arms before using her wand to carefully spell cuts into the solid growths, gradually sawing them off.

With a knowing expression (_knowing_ that Harry would stake a tent outside the infirmary doors if he was kicked out), the matron allowed the Gryffindor to stay past sensible visiting hours, and gave him a soft cloth soaked in dittany. He'd also press the occasional kiss to Draco's temple, thankful that the immature students hadn't tried a hex with a worse effect. It was still sore where Madam Pomfrey had removed the hard spikes, however, as was indicated by Draco's periodic whimpers and shudders as the dittany tried to heal the cuts. But it could've been worse.

Another kiss was dropped to Draco's cheek.

"Just half a year left of immature brats before we can escape," Harry whispered.

Draco murmured something unintelligible, and then louder; "I'm gonna have to hide in my dorm for the rest of it."

"No you won't."

"Mm. You can't always be there to play hero, Potter." The exhaustion and pain in his voice took place of any sarcasm or spite. "Lucky that Slytherin firsty was nearby and not scared off by the two little bastards."

Harry winced. "Yes, I'm glad." The tiny brunette had come bounding up to Harry, who was attempting to study in the library, exclaiming that _'Malfoy's turning into a deer and there's blood and he doesn't look good but everyone else ran away!'_ "I can try, though. I love you."

"Even with fucking antlers?"

"Hey, my dad had antlers half the time!"

Draco smiled. His boyfriend had told him the stories of the Marauders, the previous generation of Gryffindors. The pair had also agreed that they would sometime become Animagi themselves.

"I love you too, Harry."


	9. Chapter IX

**9. Gryffindor**

Harry's Herbology class had been given the task of pruning the five gravity-resistant trees that Professor Sprout had brought from one of the greenhouses. They liked sun, and had to be content before they'd allow you to cut their leaves, and so the small class was gathered on the grass by the vegetable patches. It wasn't a particularly hard assignment (second years could probably do it if they concentrated), but it needed to be done and the eighth years weren't occupied.

"Watch it, Potter! Honestly, you're such a Gryffindor," Draco chastised, bringing Harry back from his daydreaming. The sun certainly was nice, and it was making everyone lazy. The Boy-Who-Lived tightened his grip on the plant pot and his other hand reached up to stuff the floating foliage back into the soil. The roots returned to their quest of wiggling themselves free.

"Sorry," he replied quickly. "And there's nothing wrong with Gryffindor."

The Malfoy heir snorted. "Of course there isn't, _darling_. Doesn't mean it's better than Slytherin, though."

There was a definite change in how the students saw the houses now. True, there were an awful lot of Voldemort supporters that came out of the snake house, but Harry made sure to declare his opinion on the house system during one of his public "I'm-the-boy-who-lived-give-me-what-I-want" tantrums. They were useful and sometimes necessary, and the results were always worth the teasing from Draco. But finally, the Wizarding world had realised that the houses were based on personality traits and not sides in the war, and that perhaps there can be brave Death Eaters and sneaky, ambitious heroes.

"I was going to be a Slytherin, you know. I had to argue with the hat to be placed otherwise."

Draco gaped for a minute, his hands pausing with the scissors half way through a branch.

Harry snickered. "That expression is unbecoming of a Malfoy, Draco. Think of what your mother would say!"

The Slytherin sobered, closing his jaw again. He ignored Harry's mocking laughter in favour of haughtily replying, "You're lying. There is no way that you could qualify as cunning."

"Uh huh," Harry hummed, amusement still playing in his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that. It's not as if I've ever tricked you into anything, of course. And obviously that game of Truth or Dare meant nothing."

Harry busied himself with keeping the drifting plant reasonably still, watching with satisfaction as Draco's snipping slowed whilst he thought.

"You're so stereotypical, _Oh-Almighty-Slytherin_. You know there's brave kids that are put in Hufflepuff because they're loyal, and whining idiots that are Ravenclaws because they like learning. Remember that rumour about the Hufflepuffs being constantly high?"

The last comment got a huffing chuckle from the blond. Who _didn't_ remember that rumour? It was started by a couple of sixth year Gryffindors that claimed to have snuck into the badgers' den. Liars, but it entertained the school for a good five weeks.

"Fine. So long as you don't associate _me_ with any Gryffindor _qualities_..."


	10. Chapter X

**10. Hufflepuff**

Draco hissed and stumbled, accidently knocking Harry's side into the stone wall. _"That was my foot!"_

"Sorry! You were the one who wanted to come!"

"Did you have anything better to do, Potter?"

Harry huffed. "Oh no, what could be better than stalking some Hufflepuffs on my perfectly free and homework-less Monday evening?"

"Shut up, idiot. And the cloak is coming off your arm."

Indeed, the two mature, seventeen year old boys were huddled as best as possible under the not-quite-big-enough invisibility cloak, shuffling somewhat quietly after a first year badger. They made sure to keep at least a corridor behind her because honestly, they weren't really _somewhat quiet_ at all.

"I bet their password is 'I love puppies' or something," Draco snickered.

Since he had both hands occupied with holding the cloak in place, Harry nudged his boyfriend's shoulder with his elbow. The expected 'don't be rude' didn't come, however; "More like 'peace and love and fairy dust'."

Harry thumped into Draco's back when he stopped suddenly, and then the blond bent over and promptly began shuddering with trying-to-be-silent laughter, little wheezing sounds escaping from where his hands were pressed to his mouth.

A quiet snicker came from Harry at Draco's uncivilised manner, and he crouched down further to keep them invisible. When they finally calmed and straightened up, Draco shot an amused, appreciative smirk over his shoulder to Harry, and they began walking again.

"We've probably lost the kid now," Harry pointed out, and they increased the speed of their shuffling. They were almost sprinting in a weird, hunched way when they skidded around the final corner in the corridor and slid to a rushed halt. Their bodies tensed, holding their breath, as they waited to see if they had been noticed by the firsty who was barely 15 feet ahead.

When no shouting came, they deflated with relief. The little red haired kid had stopped before a pile of old wooden barrels, and was rooting about in her leather bag. She eventually smiled and pulled out a short, pale wand in triumph. Why they never carried them within reach was beyond both Harry and Draco, but they _supposed_ the runts didn't attend the school during the war.

The child stepped forward and cleared her throat at the barrels, and then reached forward and gently rapped her wand on the edge of a piece of the darkened wood.

_Tap tap, tap-tap-tap._

As she did so, she whispered (just loudly enough for the two spies), "Hel-ga Huff-ul-puff!"

The Slytherin and Gryffindor shared a dumbfounded glance and followed the firsty through the now open barrel tube, and then sat silently by the wall until the common room was empty.

"So they're not all high," Draco pointed out, having seen no Muggle or Magical drugs lying around or being used.

"Huh. Who would've guessed?"

The blond chuckled. "Well, since we're in here and have successfully proved the Gryffindors wrong, what now?"

"Oh darling, I think I have an idea..."


	11. Chapter XI

**11. Ravenclaw**

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione reprimanded for the third time that minute. "You'll never pass your exams at this rate. Don't you want to be an Auror?" (The threat of the consequences, however, varied each time.)

To be honest, Harry was getting quite fed up with it. He had a slight suspicion that it was mostly caused by his hanging around with the short-tempered but relaxed Slytherins, who tended to believe that if you don't put the effort in then you don't deserve a good result.

And so Harry figured that he was well within his right to be snappy about his housemate's bossiness.

"No, Hermione, I haven't wanted to be a bloody Auror since fifth year. Stop harping on about it or I'll go down to the Slytherin dorm."

She looked taken back, but he didn't feel guilty. Much. Hermione uttered a meek, "Sorry," and buried her face back in the Ancient Runes tome.

The Gryffindor boy sighed, dropping his head back onto the arm of his chair. The library was unsurprisingly quiet, since it was a bright Wednesday afternoon. The school seemed deserted, but the grounds were flooded with students paddling in the shallows of the lake, sunbathing, climbing the trees (the non-animated ones), practising Quidditch...

Harry's eyes had strayed to the open window again; he could hear the birds twittering and the shouting of the firsties. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye as the bookworm peered at him over the top of her book, twitching to tell him to concentrate.

He sighed again and heaved himself up from the seat, deciding that he might as well pretend to do something productive. He grabbed the open potions book, which he thought deserved its own special _evanesco*_, and muttered something indistinct about getting another before stalking off to the Potions section of the library, stretching as he went.

Harry had replaced the dull book and ran his eyes unseeingly over the rest of the shelf before he felt the presence behind him. If Hermione had taken spying to this level he would–

"Want a quickie in the back shelves, Potter?"

The Gryffindor's eyes closed with relief, his lips curving up into a blissful smile. He turned in place to find himself chest to chest with a certain gorgeous, blond git.

A git, he remembered, who had ditched him in favour of hiding in his dorm. He quickly dropped the smile.

"No, I'm not talking to you."

Draco's smirk grew wider. "Darling, please forgive me for wanting one of us to avoid the torture."

"I have no interest in any involvement with you in the near future," Harry stated, though he was caving slightly at the warm hands that were making their way under his shirt.

"You don't want to turn into a complete Ravenclaw, Harry. You know I love you..."

The Gryffindor caved completely.

Minutes later, Harry made his way back to the table, new book in hand. And what do you know; he _studied_.

_(* the Vanishing charm)_


	12. Chapter XII

**12. Potions**

Their relationship was kept quiet from the teachers for a surprisingly long amount of time; it was usual for them to at least hear the whispers of student rumours around the halls and during their classes, particularly when said rumours were to do with the Boy-Who-Lived(-Twice). The first faculty member to become aware of the news was in fact Professor Slughorn.

Contrary to many fan girls' opinions, Harry Potter was not good at every subject. Draco had enjoyed reading many fairytales involving the Wizarding World's saviour, often depicting him riding his pet unicorns through the Alleys, knocking the bad guys away from innocent children and into the arms of awaiting Aurors, or – Ron's favourite – the story of how he fought off a huge colony of acromantulas single-handedly with only the Gryffindor Sword, whilst braving the Forbidden Forest's unknown depths in order to save a young Hufflepuff ("Barely got out alive with a wand and a bloody psycho car; those groupies of yours have got some impressive imaginations!").

Draco also enjoyed pointing out how wrong the tales were, often pertaining specifically to the subjects he knew the Slytherin had more skill in.

"Tutor me in Potions, then, if you're so amazing," Harry shot back after another snicker came from the blond, his hair barely showing over the top of _Harry Potter and the Potion of Life_.

Malfoy's smirking eyes came into view. "You do know that 'tutoring' is teenage slang for 'shagging in a classroom', right?"

"Regardless of how much you'd love to shag me, you git, a bit of tutoring wouldn't hurt my grade."

"You're right; you couldn't possibly get any worse. Friday nights? We could finish off _tutoring_ after curfew in my dorm room-"

The first session, Harry learnt that the Wideye Potion (which usually resulted in an Eye-Growing Potion) was surprisingly easy to make, and that Draco had 3 freckles on his arse.

Session two was slightly more productive. The Gryffindor not only discovered the wonders of the Libido Enhancing Draught, but the pair discovered a secret passageway that the Marauder's Map didn't reveal, and a heavily warded room that was well of out patrolling prefects' sight. Also, Draco was only ticklish on his left side.

There were no books laid out on the table for their third meet, but a few knives and a range of ingredients were covering the desk. Draco was sitting in a nearby chair, a leer clear on his lips.

"Evening, Potter. Tutoring time, eh?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but a grin was creeping onto his face. He stepped forward and picked up a short, silver knife, twirling it by the handle. He fumbled and dropped it again not a second later, however, when a warm chest was pressed against his back, arms winding around his chest.

"We're going to make Wolfsbane, you Gryffindor, don't use a silver knife!"

"Well then," Harry replied breathily, "I shouldn't have distractions."

"You call this a distraction?"

"Harry? Malfoy-!"

Harry cursed and turned with a charming, false smile as Draco began cackling with laughter.


End file.
